


Cold Hotter than Coal

by bukkunkun



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Abusive Partner, Adultery, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hurt, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Rape/Non-con References, Temperature Play, manny is an a-hole, oh my god am i really the first person to use the nick/jack tag i feel horrible, oh my god pitch why, okay temperature play-ishhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunkun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>White-hot, burning like coals, the cold was hot, hot, hot, burning—and he found craving for more. Written for a fill on the kinkmeme.</p><p>Prompt: A young Nicholas St. North comes across a wounded winter spirit after returning from his latest heist. He nurses the boy back to health and the beautiful spirit decides to repay him with his body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck between a human and a sprite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I don't know when to stop with Young!North.
> 
> I'm so very guilty for this and I don't know if I can stop and it's an AU where a lot of the stories are fucked up and well North stays a human and there are no Guardians and just... please ignore me, I'm incoherent with impatience with my bestie Cas.

Nicholas St. North, King of Bandits, had never believed in the spirits, or old wives’ tales, or fantastical stories of mystical beings like fairies, or beautiful winged women with razor-sharp scimitars, or tall, tall rabbit-men and their strange magic. He wasn’t one to believe in such things—he was a man who grew up in the rugged outdoors, in the harsh winter of Siberia, all alone, until he was adopted and raised by the most bloodthirsty race in the entirety of Europe—the Cossacks.

Naturally, his sceptical nature was tested when one evening, a heist brought him much more than beautiful gemstones and priceless antiques, countless golden coins that shimmer and shine in the candlelight, and swooning young ladies at their windows at the mention of his passing-by.

No, he had found something much, much more interesting than that.

Crouched over on his side, a frail-looking boy lay at his feet, clutching a section of his midsection. The boy looked nothing like the other children Nicholas had seen—he had snow-white hair up in spikes, smooth, frosty alabaster skin that gleamed slightly with the light layer of fern-patterned ice that had frozen of it. His clothes, dark brown and tattered due to years of use were also lightly frosted over with ice.

The boy was so still—unmoving; the boy looked so still he looked dead. Nicholas bent over to inspect the boy, peering at a pretty face, eyes shut in what seemed like restless sleep, tiny frozen snowflakes caught in ivory eyelashes as peach lips were pressed together in a thin line, curving down to a frown. Nicholas stayed still, as well, as around him, snow began to lightly fall. He turned out the sound of everything—his men guffawing at the haul a few metres away, Petrov’s distressed whinnying at their actions, the wind blowing through rustling leaves, the muffled sound of the town they had left behind—and _listened_ , listened for anything from the boy.

He was not breathing; he realised, and alarmed, Nicholas reached for the boy’s pulse point, warm fingers making contact with ice-cold skin softer than virgin snow in the morning after a light snowfall. There was no pulse. The boy was dead—

Suddenly beautiful, beautiful ice-blue eyes opened, wide and innocent like the first snowflake to fall, and looked straight into his equally blue ones. Nicholas choked back a gasp at the beauty he could see in the boy’s face—so flawless, so pure, so… _dead_.

Gathering himself, he pulled back as the boy sat up—but then he winced and reached for his side, where much to Nicholas’s surprise, there was a dark blue stain on the boy’s white shirt.

“You’re injured,” he spoke softly, strangely impelled to stay gentle and soft to this boy—he looked so fragile, so delicate, Nicholas feared he would shatter the boy just at the sound of his voice.

“I am,” the boy simply replied, pulling his hand away to reveal his slim hand dripping with a deep blue substance that looked like ice slush mixed with blue blood. Impossible, Nicholas thought to himself as he looked at the boy’s hand in wonder. This was not blood; well, not the blood of a regular human. “I don’t suppose you could help me?” the boy asked, looking at Nicholas, catching his attention, and the two locked their gazes.

“What are you?” Nicholas asked instead, gingerly taking the boy’s hand and marvelling at the softness of it—it was softer than any maiden’s hand he had ever held, yet it was cold, cold like the snow all around them. “You… you are not human.”

“I’m not, yes.” The boy confirmed with a light nod, “I’m a winter spirit—well, at least, that’s what the Moon told me.” he said simply, shrugging. “All I know is to spread winter, and that my name is Jack Frost.”

“… Jack Frost.” Nicholas repeated. Ah, yes. Jack Frost—the spirit fabled to be responsible for winter. Whilst the man did not believe in such stories, he had at least acknowledged the spirit’s presence. Jack Frost was the one who supplied all the snow he had lived with since the days of his youth. He owed the spirit at least that much.

“I’m surprised you can see me, actually.” Jack continued, looking up at him, and laughing self-depreciatingly. His laughter sounded light despite his mood, and it reminded Nicholas of chiming sleigh bells in winter.

“Do you need help?” the elder man asked, kneeling down to the spirit’s side to inspect the wound—it was rather large, stretching from halfway up his back all the way to his side like a large crescent moon. “Where did you get this wound?”

“One of your ruffians likes swinging his sword,” the winter spirit replied dryly. “It’s too bad he couldn’t see what he was hitting.”

Nicholas frowned at this, and Jack laughed. “So, a little help?” he asked, peering at Nicholas and grinning. “… Bandit King?”

“I have heard stories of people being spirited away by sprites like you.” Nicholas accused, and Jack laughed, throaty and hoarse, like it had been disused for some time, but nevertheless Nicholas loved the sound of it.

“I doubt you believe such stories, Bandit King,” Jack laughed, shaking his head, gesturing at himself. “And I am hardly in the condition to _spirit you away_.” The teen grinned at the elder man. “There are other beings in the forest you should be more worried of than me. I’m just a winter spirit; wait until you meet the Nightmare King.”

“The Nightmare King,” Nicholas repeated. “Your husband?”

Jack stiffened visibly. Jack Frost, the spirit of ice and bringer of winter was known by another name—the Shadow Bride, the consort of the King of Nightmares, ruler of the darkness and night. Only cold could tame the dark, for after all, what better consort for dark than cold?

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at Jack’s reaction, but said nothing.

“…Yes, my husband.” Jack replied, his tone dead and his expression stony.

Nicholas peered at the boy. So the stories… they were all real?

“Well, Nicholas St. North?” Jack asked, crossing his arms gently, keeping them away from his wound.

“Come with me,” Nicholas simply stated, easily picking up the boy in his arms bridal-style. “I will see to you myself; my men are not able to see you after all.”

“Positively perfect,” the spirit in his arms purred into his ear. “More for me.”

Nicholas couldn’t tell if the shiver that ran through him was just from the cold or from anticipation.

* * *

Gently, the elder man sat the spirit down on his bed of furs, lamps all around them flickering warmly, lighting up the tent dimly as outside the din of the other bandits was clearly audible—laughing, singing, drinking and eating—they knew only so much pleasures. Nicholas was exploring a new kind of such.

Slowly, he ran his hands down the boy’s arms, Jack’s eyes focused entirely on his face, transfixed with the intensity of fire, as Nicholas’s hands wandered over the boy’s thin frame. Large, warm hands passed over cold, cold cloth, tattered white smooth yet rough underneath his calloused hands as sensually; he ran his hands down over the spirit’s thin—far too _thin_ —body.

A breathless sigh escaped Jack’s lips as Nicholas’s hands trailed up his torso (steering clear of the wound, of course) and laced his fingers in the sloppy ribbon keeping his cloak together.

“You know, spirit, I am a very busy man.” Nicholas spoke up, surprised at the sound of his voice—low and gravelly, as he pulled at the knot, the cloak slipping down Jack’s shoulders, smooth as silk, “Time spent off from heists… do you know how much treasures I could accumulate instead of taking care of you?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” the winter spirit murmured, leaning forward into Nicholas’s touch—it was hot against his ice-cold skin, and he found himself _loving_ the heat as he felt the man’s hands caress his body through his tattered clothing. Shivering delightedly as he felt nimble fingers undo the bindings of his clothes, he pressed a kiss to the man’s face, just a little past the corner of the man’s lips. “I’ll make it worth the time wasted.”

“And what about your husband?”

“What _about_ my husband?” Jack replied, smirking at Nicholas.

“Then I look forward to your payment,” Nicholas chuckled into the sprite’s ear, pulling away slightly to watch as the last binding came undone and dirtied, tattered white cloth slid over and off creamy white shoulders, lightly dusted with little freckles Nicholas found himself adoring at the back of his mind as his large hands ran over delicate skin, more precious and delicate than a layer of freshly-fallen snow.

The winter spirit let out a shaky, breathless sigh as warmth from the man’s large hands seeped into his freezing cold body, frozen blood stirring to life as heat’s curling grip spread across his body like blooming bruises. Jack’s eyes slipped closed as the searing pain cutting through his back and side muffled to a dull throb at the sensation of Nicholas’s hot, hot hands on his body, running down smooth arms, over subtly prominent ribs, ghosting ever-so-lightly over cold pink nipples that brought out a soft moan from parted peach lips.

The Bandit King grinned at the quiet, yet unabashed moan that spilled from Jack’s pretty little mouth. “You are beautiful,” he told the spirit, his hands moving lower, and lower, and Jack groaned, leaning forward—

And he winced, for the wound had once again made itself known. Nicholas laughed at the frustrated growl that escaped the lithe spirit.

“Calm yourself, Frost child,” Nicholas softly said, scooting around to inspect the wound on Jack’s back, and frowning upon seeing how deep it was—deep enough to see several blood vessels were cut, a few major muscle groups as well; this could have easily killed a man. He peered at Jack, who was looking at him over his shoulder with impassive eyes. Bearing a wound that could easily kill a man and still be strong enough to sensually flirt. Jack was a spirit, indeed, Nicholas thought fondly, keeping his face set as he stood up to get medical supplies.

“Where are you going?” Jack asked only when Nicholas approached the flap to his tent.

“Getting the proper equipment.” Nicholas simply stated, “I’m going to need stitches for that.”

Jack regarded him for a moment, blinking owlishly, but eventually nodded. Nicholas immediately left the tent to head for the crude pile of medical bags, all the while dodging and steering away from drunken bandits who all wanted their leader in on their fun.

Nicholas was dealing with his _own_ kind of fun.

Quickly, the young man gathered what he needed and shoved it all into a satchel before making a quick return to his tent.

As he entered, he heard the winter sprite giggle. Nicholas stared.

Jack had stripped off his clothing, apparently, and now, covering his lower half was a pile of furs Nicholas used to keep himself warm at night. The winter spirit was kneeling on Nicholas’s bed with his back to him, showing the man an unblemished nape, shoulders dotted with light freckles, and a smooth, smooth back that curved so beautifully to a rather beautifully-rounded behind half-covered by furs pooling around his waist. It was almost perfect—the only thing ruining it was the violent, jarring wound that adorned Jack’s back. The spirit was smirking deviously despite the pain he felt from his wound, peering at Nicholas over his shoulder coyly.

“I’m very sure you like what you see, Bandit King.” Jack stated, shuffling around slightly, and a creamy white leg peered out from beneath the sheets.

“Oh, _very_ much,” Nicholas replied lowly, approaching the spirit and kneeling down to look right into Jack’s eyes. “You are a tricky temptress, Jack Frost.” He smirked, running his palm over Jack’s shoulder.

“I was born a trickster,” Jack smirked back at him, barely suppressing the delighted shiver that ran through him he was sure Nicholas felt too. “Do you like tricksters, Nicholas St. North?”

“Depends,” the young man replied, pulling away to brush his lips against the soft, cool skin of Jack’s thin shoulders, brushing them over the slightly prominent clavicle, earning him a breathless sigh from Jack, who leaned closer to his warmth. “Come now, enough teasing.” He smirked into Jack’s shoulder, and the spirit eyed him sceptically. He laughed, pulling away and showing him the satchel he had procured. “I’ll claim my reward soon enough.”

“Oh, how long I shall have to wait,” Jack grinned at him, sticking a pink tongue out at him playfully, but then turned his head in agreement to Nicholas’s words. Silently, the young man began to address Jack’s wound, first lightly wiping at it with a dry cloth to clean up excess blood (he had attempted this with a wet cloth, but it froze upon contact with Jack’s blood. The both of them ended up laughing at the entire situation) before stitching the wound closed. The entire time Nicholas was working, not a single sound escaped the boy’s lips—he was not even breathing, nor was there blood pulsing underneath alabaster skin, and Nicholas found himself wondering if the boy was dead or not.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Jack,” he spoke up, tugging on the string, and here he heard the ghost of a whimper escape Jack’s lips. “Are you dead?”

“Cold, stone dead,” the spirit replied cheerfully, and Nicholas smirked slightly at Jack’s tone. Unbeknownst to him, though, Jack hid from him a pang of sadness that flitted past his plain expression as he spoke. “It’s because I don’t have a pulse, isn’t it?”

“Mostly.” Nicholas replied, “I don’t mind, though. You’re somehow… even more beautiful that way.”

Jack’s expression melted slightly into what seemed like relief, and the spirit laughed sadly, his shoulders shaking as he did so. “You are a strange man, Nicholas St. North.”

“And you, a strange spirit, Jack Frost.” Nicholas replied, knotting the stitch at the end of the wound, before dressing it with a bandage. “Asking a mere human like me to aid you? Where are your allies? Your husband?”

“The Nightmare King is anything but benevolent,” Jack replied, turning to face Nicholas when the man was done wrapping the bandages. “And you seem to be an intent target of his, o fearless one?” he smiled coyly up at Nicholas, his slim hand wrapping around Nicholas’s wrist. The young man smirked at Jack, an eyebrow rising in silent query as Jack pulled his hand up to his face and pressed the man’s palm against his cheek. “And most of all, you are warm, so _warm_.” He sighed headily, leaning into Nicholas’s touch. “Not like Pitch, so hot and burning and painful like the Flame child’s mere presence around me. I like you.” A smile crossed Jack’s face and much to Nicholas’s surprise it was warm, and almost loving, sincere and heartfelt despite Jack’s intense cold.

“And I, you.” Nicholas replied, breath stolen by the honest beauty in Jack’s gentle smile. The winter spirit smiled up at him, almost shyly, and reached for the man’s cheek, pressing a dead, cold yet soft hand on the man’s warm, rosy cheek.

“Warm, like the sun.” Jack murmured, his hand snaking around to Nicholas’s nape and slowly pulled the man closer to his face. “Wondrous and bright.”

“You sound as if you have fallen in love with me,” Nicholas smirked at Jack, their gazes locking as warm breath mingled with cold, vapour forming between their parted lips, tingling with the anticipation of a kiss.

“Perhaps.” Jack replied vaguely. “Now kiss me.”

So Nicholas did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. Just for clarity, Jack's married to Pitch here, yes. 
> 
> Sooo. He's /technically/ the Nightmare Queen. Yeah.
> 
> Shhh don't judge me I really like this prompt since I turned a possible pwp to a porn with plot in fucking seconds I feel so horrible


	2. Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicholas finds a new addiction.
> 
> The Nightmare King is furious.
> 
> Jack takes everything in stride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing here any more, I'm just letting shit happen as it goes.
> 
> Sorry if things get trippy.
> 
> Have some sensual kissing instead.
> 
> ((All the regrets are still had.))

What does winter taste like?

Like a cool, soft snowflake that falls on top of an outstretched tongue?

Or, like the crisp, fresh mountain air filled with the scent of dewdrops and frost flowers?

Or maybe, sweet; like a nice cool confectionary?

Or perhaps, bitter like a snowstorm that brought with it hypothermia, or pneumonia, or painful, painful frostbite?

Or, rich like a strong red wine or whisky, beautiful as the force of heavy snowfall?

Nicholas realised it wasn’t any of these things—it was _all_ these, combined into one unique sensation, a flavour so intoxicating it left him wanting more, the compulsion stronger than that drug in the Far East that had been all the rage in the West.

As his lips pressed against soft, cold _dead_ ones, Nicholas knew he would—no, _could_ no longer kiss any other.

Jack Frost’s lips were as alluring as any treasure he seeks out—perhaps even more so than anything he had ever sought.

Parting, the sprite and the bandit king stared at each other, their eyes piercing each other to the core as they panted slightly for air.

“You taste wonderful,” blurted out the human without his consent, and a beautiful smile blossomed across Jack’s face, suddenly shy at the comment he received, a pretty little shrinking violet withering at Nicholas’s breathless comment.

“So I have heard,” Jack replied, almost embarrassed to admit it, and Nicholas smiled at him warmly.

“Your husband is a lucky man, then.” He nodded, and Jack’s expression fell, much to Nicholas’s surprise.

“Then that must mean I am the most unlucky in the world.” he sighed, before turning his head away from Nicholas. “Judging from the size of this wound, I’ll be in your hair for at least two weeks. I apologise in advance for the inconveniences I may cause.”

Nicholas eyed the spirit, concerned. The sudden turn in the spirit’s mood unsettled him, and gingerly, he placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “… Jack?” he asked, and the youthful spirit turned his head to look at Nicholas, a sad smile on his lips.

“I will try to be as beneficial to you as I can, Bandit King.” Jack pressed gently, taking Nicholas’s hand in his. “I am not like my… _husband_ , I know to help humans in need.”

“And kill and maim,” Nicholas commented, and Jack’s expression fell further, a frown playing on full lips, but the man grinned at the spirit and pressed a tender kiss to Jack’s forehead. “You are a force to be reckoned with, Frost child; a wonder of nature that brings both help and harm to humans. You need not hide from me any wrong you have done—you are beautiful, whether it was your responsibility for delicate frost flowers or severed fingers from frostbite.” He gently said, squeezing Jack’s hands with his.

Jack stared at him, surprise clear on his face, but then it melted to fondness—and possibly, _happiness_ —and he smiled at the human, a strange warmth blossoming in his cold dead chest.

“You will hold a special place in my thoughts, you strange human.” He murmured, leaning to rest against Nicholas’s side, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. “Promise me that sometimes, you will think of me.”

“Oh, I doubt you’ll ever leave my mind.” Nicholas smiled, burying his face into Jack’s soft hair and smelling the fresh scent of ice and falling snow.

“Careful with what you say, Nicholas.” Jack chuckled, but he snuggled closer to the man’s warmth. “I may just fall in love with you, and that will _not_ do.”

Nicholas laughed it off, silently marvelling at how prettily his name rolled off the spirit’s tongue like dew falling off a leaf.

“Living arrangements,” the man declared, pulling away, and Jack fell forward into the man’s bed of furs, muffling his protests as he fell face-first into fluff. Spluttering, Jack sat up, pouting at Nicholas, who laughed at the sight of the dishevelled sprite. “You have to stay here in my tent. I’ll get more furs so the both of us can be accommodated.”

“Why not just share?” Jack coyly grinned, winking at him suggestively. “I don’t bite.”

“Don’t tempt me, Jack.” Nicholas grinned at the sprite, tapping him on the nose. “I’ll get some furs. It’s a blessing winter hasn’t fully arrived yet.”

The young man left the tent to do as he said, and Jack watched him leave. When Nicholas disappeared behind the tent-flap, he sighed, slumping down into the furs that covered his body and tickled his skin, warmth seeping into his cold flesh as he wrapped them around him.

“Nicholas St. North, the Bandit King…” he murmured to himself wistfully. “What a most charming man.” He laughed sadly, shaking his head. “Oh, that will never do…” he looked out from a gap in the tent and into the woods, where darkness had settled, coating the world in a black veil that brought out the moon’s brightness. Night had fallen. It was time for the Nightmare King to do his rounds.

“What would your dear old husband say, Jack?” he sighed to himself. “About silly little you, head over heels for some _human_ …?”

The darkness outside stirred. His husband was searching for him, he knew, and at this a defiant smirk crossed his face.

“Well, he’ll just have to _deal with it_.” He scoffed triumphantly, turning over to gaze at the tent-flap, eagerly awaiting his caregiver’s arrival.

* * *

 

Outside, shadows coalesce into shapes, then silhouettes, and then figures, twisting and turning around a central figure, holding a long, wooden staff, crooked at the top end. Another is at his feet, a shepherd’s crook covered with fern frost, firmly frozen to the ground, impossible to pull off while the cold weather persists.

“Where is he?” a silken voice asks hundreds of writhing darkness, a slim, pale hand reaching out towards them, demanding a response. None dared approach.

Anger flared in the figure’s burning yellow eyes.

“Not a single one of you _know_?” he hissed, swinging his staff around as a scythe blade formed at its crooked end, slicing through shadows, screeching and screams filling the air as he cut them viciously. “A simple fact—the location of my _bride_ , you do not know? I have placed far too much trust in you buffoons! Useless! The lot of you!”

The whinny of a majestic horse made of shadows and obsidian shards cut through his rage, and the man stilled enough to allow the steed to approach its master, burning yellow eyes raging with a fire second only to her master’s. A wisp of black sand from her mane reaches the man’s hand, and his eyes widen as it swirls around his fingers.

“Injured? How on Earth is that possible?”

A whinny served as a reply; the horse did not know.

The Nightmare King growled at grit his teeth. “Why has he not come to me?”

The horse did not reply as its brethren flitted around them skittishly, nervous like a flock of birds in the presence of a growling animal, trapped by their own volition.

“Is it because I am far from benevolent?” the man ranted, “That he thinks I am not wedded to him? That he isn’t aware of the fact that I _own_ him?! That _insolent_ child—!”

The horse whinnied its disapproval, cutting her master off, and he looked at her.

“Find him, Onyx, and bring him to me.” He ordered.

The horse shook her head, her wild sand mane flowing. She will not; her master’s bride is injured—the travel will only make things worse.

“What, then do you expect me to leave him alone up there? Lose him to Death? That will break off that precious little truce I have with the accursed Moon and his insufferable _Guardians_?” he spat, yet Onyx kept her cool.

_Master, he has found shelter—a caregiver. The human Bandit King_ , shadows whispered into the Nightmare King’s ear. _He is enthralled by the Frost child’s beauty. He will not harm him._

The man narrowed his eyes at the horse. “The Bandit King,” he snorted, shaking his head. “The man rumoured to be _fearless_ , Nicholas St. North?”

The horse nodded. _The very same_.

The man scowled, but turned his anger away from his trusted steed.

“If he wants to play with his precious _humans_ , then fine,” he scoffed. “I’ll have him dragged back to me in a fortnight.” A cruel grin on his face, he began to walk away into deeper darkness, ready to spread fear and nightmares to the world after dark. “How sweet will his screams be, I wonder, if the stitches split open as I pull him across his so precious earth?”

* * *

 

Days pass and the men notice their leader has been brooding more often than deemed routine. Worry gripped them, but Petrov, Nicholas’s most beloved and trusted horse, stayed calm amidst the turbulence of the humans’ woes, perfectly quiet and indifferent regarding his partner—not his owner; for Petrov was still an unbroken horse, and Nicholas an unbroken man—and his current predicaments. He was aware of the tempting little sprite currently taking residence in the man’s tent and frankly, he couldn’t care less if the Nightmare King himself had claimed the little temptress—Petrov was happy enough to see his friend focusing on something other than almost getting killed and the thrill of adventure he got from heists.

It rather helped that winter had come early this year—to be precise, _three months early_ , but Petrov knew who was responsible for that.

Heist after heist, when the tents were left to a few bandits to watch over (they did rotations so all of them don’t feel left out, Nicholas expressed his sentiment about this to Petrov rather eloquently—the young man had pulled a face and mimicked gagging. If that was anything to go by, Petrov knew that Nicholas had disliked this arrangement as much as his men did, but propriety and safety dictated otherwise) a certain winter sprite would reach out his delicate arm and make snow fall over the camp, putting out lights and freezing over leftover alcohol, and most important of all, cover and hide the tracks the bandit group may have made to keep the authorities from finding the encampment of the Bandit King St. North.

Nicholas was aware of what Jack was doing, but said nothing of it.

The taste that Jack had given him the first night they met plagued his mind for the following days, as night after night, his lips would brush Jack’s cool, sweet, smooth— _taken, claimed_ —skin as he changed the winter spirit’s bandages and inspected the rapidly-healing wound.

One evening, as Nicholas was slowly unwrapping bandages from Jack’s midsection, the youthful spirit gently took hold of Nicholas’s chin and raised it to look into his eyes.

“You have been brooding these past few days.” Jack stated plainly as the two locked gazes, and Nicholas sighed, lowering his hand that held the cold-bloodied bandage. Jack lowered his hand and folded them together on his still-naked lap, covered only in the furs that served as his and Nicholas’s bed. Ever since their first evening together, Jack had not worn his old clothes, refusing to even acknowledge them (they were currently neatly folded and placed at the corner of the tent atop Nicholas’s chest of his own clothing) and instead opting to either using the fur blankets or stealing Nicholas’s long coats. “Is there something wrong? If this is about Pitch, I…”

“No, I have been thinking—no, _pining_.” Nicholas confessed, and Jack raised a fine eyebrow.

“Pining? Perhaps you have a pretty young maid in mind? I could always—”

“No, Jack. I have been pining for another taste of you.” Nicholas cut him off, and Jack’s eyes widened in delighted surprise. “Your lips, your skin, everything about you, I… I’m enamoured, sprite.” He sighed, gently caressing Jack’s side, where he could see the closed wound; crude stitches and all, steadily heal, scabbing over with a delicate layer of frost that covered the edges of torn skin and flesh.

“You sound as if you have fallen in love with me,” Jack murmured, remembering Nicholas’s exact words on their first night together, and the man laughed sadly.

“Using my words on me, you clever little thing,” Nicholas shook his head fondly, but then reached for a clean bandage. “But it would seem so. How piteous I must look, Jack; falling for something far from the reach of even the King of Bandits.”

“I’m not that far away from your reach,” Jack gently said, lifting his hand to caress the man’s cheek with his soft hand. “In fact, I seem to be pulling myself even closer to you…”

Nicholas laughed. “Does that mean you’ve fallen for me as well?” he asked, putting the bandage down again.

“Perhaps.” Jack giggled, reaching behind the man’s head and pulling him close so their foreheads touched. “I’ll let you have a taste again tonight, then.” He sweetly said, flicking out a pink tongue to lick over the man’s lips. “Just a little nip. Okay?”

Nicholas smirked at Jack and moved forward, bringing their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss, cold breath mingling with hot, condensing into vapour between the gap in their mouths as they kissed and kissed, the larger man moving even more forward, one of his hands firmly on the ground to keep him aloft, and the other moved to Jack’s unharmed waist and held him up, pressing the sprite’s naked chest tightly to his own, clothed in furs to keep him warm.

A sweet moan spilled from Jack’s mouth and Nicholas drank it up as their tongues slipped out from their respective homes and explored each other, sensually rubbing against each other, as Jack’s hands came up to grasp for purchase on Nicholas’s shoulders, legs swinging forward to hook at Nicholas’s waist to keep himself aloft and connected to the human, creamy white thighs rubbing against rugged leather and cloth.

They parted, panting for air, their eyes wild with want, but they both held back.

The prize, after all, was sweetest when waited for with great anticipation.

“So, did you like that?” Jack coyly asked, and the human grinned down at him, revelling at the sight of the winter spirit he was hunched over—lips, pink, shining wet and slightly swollen as proof of their kissing, curled up in a grin as mischievous blue eyes looked up at him expectantly.

“Loved it. You kiss like a seasoned lover.” He commented, pulling back and righting Jack’s position so the spirit was sitting up properly. He once again picked up the bandage and this time, properly addressed Jack’s wound.

“I try,” Jack grinned, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence as Nicholas wrapped Jack’s wound up and tied it securely. When he had finished, the two of them looked at each other and a soft smile spread across Nicholas’s face.

“I know what you’ve been doing, for the men and I.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack replied simply, deadpan.

“Winter has arrived.”

“And?”

“Three months early.” Nicholas grinned, and at this, Jack blushed slightly. The human looked on, admiring how nice a look it was on the sprite. “You were covering up our tracks. To throw off the authorities.”

“Well, it wouldn’t do to endanger my caregiver, right?” Jack replied, and Nicholas laughed.

“Your caregiver and his band of men.” He smiled, “You, Jack Frost, are a bringer of joy to us.”

“Days ago you were detailing to me how my winter kills people,” Jack smirked at him, and Nicholas held up his hands defensively.

“Both the sides of the same coin, Jack. Beauty and adversity in perfect harmony—the winter season,” Nicholas reached forward to caress Jack’s cheek. “And the bringer of winter himself.”

“Flatterer,” Jack giggled, but made no move to turn his head away from Nicholas’s hand.

They fell silent after that, but the both of them knew something was beginning to start.

Only bad news can follow suit should they continue like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I should really stop watching Phantom of the Opera.
> 
> And adultery is a serious thing, Jackie baby. But I guess I can't blame you, since Pitch is your (abusive?) husband.
> 
> spoilersthey'reforciblymarriedsojackreallydidn'twantitbuthehadtomarrypitchsorrynotsorryspoilers


	3. Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicholas claims his first prize.
> 
> Jack finds himself a new lover.
> 
> The world prepares to tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mobile rush posting with a whole lot of copy-pasting and patience and HTML and be thankful you asses because I ain't doing this mobile posting ever a-fucking-gain.
> 
> Now comes the part y'all are waiting for--THE SEX. The first of many, I'd like to imagine.
> 
> THIS TIME I HAVE NO REGRETS. NONE AT ALL.
> 
> (okay, maybe i regret posting mobile but wtf)

The wound, contrary to what Jack had said, had closed up on the tenth day they were together. The moment Nicholas stepped foot into his tent, a blur of white tackled him to the ground, and a deviously smirking Jack sprawled on top of him, wearing—of all things—one of Nicholas’s winter coats.

“You’re moving around like you haven’t even gotten hurt,” Nicholas commented, chuckling beneath Jack’s cold body against his, and the sprit laughed.

“The wound had closed up completely.” Jack replied simply, shrugging, and the too-large coat slid down his shoulder in an almost teasing manner. “I’m _waiting_.”

“You said at least a fortnight, sprite.” Nicholas smirked up at Jack, leaning up to plant a kiss on Jack’s collarbone, earning him a delighted shiver from the sprite on top of him. “Why did you heal so fast?”

“I said a fortnight, yes,” Jack grinned, “But I already included a three-night leeway for your reward.” He purred, leaning forward to ghost his lips over Nicholas’s. “So, like I said, I’m _waiting_.”

“You crafty little minx,” Nicholas chuckled, before wrapping his arms around Jack and flipping them over so he was towering on top of Jack, straddling his narrow waist as he watched his coat slip open in front of him, teasingly revealing inch by inch soft frosty skin that was his to taste, devour, _soil_ —for four days.

“Well, Bandit King?” Jack smirked up at Nicholas, his hands up where his head was, clear from his body as he allowed the coat to slide open completely, revealing to Nicholas his entirety. “Take what you want—I’m _yours_.” He sweetly smiled, leaning up to kiss the man on top of him. “Totally _yours_ , Nicholas,” he murmured into the man’s mouth, “Yours to take, to mark to your heart’s desire.”

“Then take I shall,” Nicholas replied, easily picking Jack up, allowing the coat to slip off Jack’s naked body, and he quickly moved to the bed of furs they had shared for the past few days.

Despite the excitement burning cold through his veins, Jack smiled warmly up at the man on top of him as he felt large, warm hands tremble against his skin. Nicholas let Jack go to take his coat off—when the sprite held onto his wrist, stopping him in his movements.

“You’re shaking.”

“So I have noticed,” the man replied curtly, gently grasping Jack’s hand in his and kissing his knuckles tenderly. “And what of it?” he asked against Jack’s soft skin.

“Are you frightened?” Jack asked gently.

“Frightened? The Bandit King knows no fear, Jack.”

“Yes, that is true,” Jack replied, reaching up his other hand to caress Nicholas’s cheek. “But does Nicholas St. North know of it? I am sure he does. He is a human, after all.”

Nicholas blinked at Jack, and sighed fondly, leaning forward to capture Jack’s lips with his in a tender, chaste kiss. He pulled back and looked Jack in the eye. “Jack, I am going to sleep with a married being; as if that wasn’t bad enough, you are the bride of the Nightmare King himself—of course there are things to fear.”

“Yes, I know,” Jack sighed sweetly, pulling his hand in Nicholas’s close to him and pressing it against his cheek, melting slightly at the warmth that seeped into his skin. “But take comfort in knowing it was you who set my heart on fire.”

Nicholas smiled at Jack, shaking his head fondly, and pulled his hand gently away from Jack, before he shrugged off his coat, leaving it on the ground next to them.

“And you, mine. With cold hotter than coal.” He smiled, moving forward again to claim Jack’s lips, their lips moving together in open-mouthed kisses as tongues twined and hands explored, slim white fingers drumming lightly over wide shoulders and large calloused hands feeling every single inch of snow-soft skin offered to him so unabashedly. Soon Jack’s hands were reaching for Nicholas’s shirt, tugging on it as he moaned softly into the man’s mouth, and the human complied, pulling away from Jack to pull the rest of his clothes off. Jack watched Nicholas undress, still breathless, pink lips parted and shining wet with saliva, as desire stirred inside him upon laying his eyes on the man’s well-built figure and well-endowed crotch, already half-hard.

“Simply wondrous,” Jack murmured, as his own crotch stirred to life, and unconsciously he crossed his legs, sliding smooth legs against each other in a movement that was rousing to the man also watching him intently from where he stood.

“The same could be said for you,” Nicolas replied, his voice low and gravelly, and he descended down upon Jack again, kissing him more passionately than before as now, their naked bodies brushed against each other—warm, work-calloused skin against cool, soft skin, no holds barred, nothing hidden from each other, everything out for each other to see like an exposed nerve prone to being struck.

They kissed and kissed, Jack clinging onto Nicholas like a lifeline as his hands came up behind the man’s neck and pulling him closer, deepening their kisses as he spread his legs beneath him, allowing the man to settle between them.

They both let out low moans the moment their erections brushed, Jack’s head tilting back in pleasure as heat sparked in his coldness, and Nicholas took this chance to lean down and lave his attention on Jack’s neck.

“O-oh, Nicholas,” Jack gasped, sensation pumping more and more lust into his body as his hands gripped the man’s shoulders in pleasure as the licks, light nips and kisses the human peppered down his neck. “Mark me,” he breathlessly begged, and at this, Nicholas paused and pulled away, earning him a needy whine from Jack.

“I cannot,” he replied, stroking the sprite’s hair soothingly, “You’re married—he’ll know.”

“And I don’t care,” Jack replied desperately, pressing his legs together against Nicholas’s sides, earning him a groan from the man. “I want proof I made love with you, consequences be damned.”

Nicholas looked down at Jack worriedly, and the spirit looked up at him pleadingly. “ _Please_.”

The little beg escaped almost as a whimper from Jack’s desperate lips, and Nicholas, awed by the beauty of the spirit beneath him, resolved to comply. He leant down and his nips grew in force, kisses turned to light bites, and he bit down on a particularly sensitive area in the depression behind Jack’s clavicle that earned him a satisfying moan from Jack.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack gasped, urging Nicholas on, rolling his hips and brushing their erections together, now fully erect as their foreplay grew in passion. Soon hickeys dotted Jack’s neck and Nicholas pulled back to inspect his handiwork—a smirk that he could not help crossing his face as he surveyed the dark marks that stood out against Jack’s pale skin.

The spirit grinned up at him. “You liked it too, it would seem.” He said, and Nicholas laughed, shaking his head fondly.

“You notice far too many things, Jack.” He said simply, pulling away and reaching to the side for the jar of oil he had kept ready for this event ever since the bargain was struck, still warm from where it was being kept right next to one of the burning lamps in his tent.

Jack watched on, rapt, as Nicholas dipped two fingers into the substance and shuffled back between Jack’s spread legs. The spirit looked right at the human, who grinned at him.

“I’ll make sure you’ll _love_ this,” he assured, and gently prodded a finger against Jack’s cool entrance.

The gentleness of the poke would have made Jack make a snide comment about how rough his husband was with him, but the warmth from the oil he did not expect, and his eyes widened in both pleasure and pleasant surprise when he felt warmth at his most intimate place. He arched like a bow and an uninhibited moan tore from his lips as Nicholas’s finger started slowly circling his entrance, wetting it thoroughly with warm, warm oil, slowly and oh so sweetly starting to prepare him for their lovemaking.

“O-oh, _oh_ , Nicholas,” Jack moaned as the finger began to prod into his entrance, the pink ring of muscle parting to allow just the tip inside. The warmth and the tender slowness was overwhelmingly sensual to Jack, wholly unused to this amount of care during sex, and his legs trembled and flailed as his body shuddered at the entrance of Nicholas’s finger.

“You moan like a virgin, Jack.” Nicholas murmured, entranced by Jack’s reactions. The flush on the sprite’s cheeks, parted lips, wet and shining, caught in a loud moan, Jack’s trembling limbs and quivering thighs—the sight was _delicious_ to him as he began to languidly stroke himself, lubricating himself up as he took pleasure in watching Jack slowly being overcome with pleasure. “I thought you had a husband? Surely you had a wedding night?”

He pushed his finger in to the first knuckle, and Jack let out a wanton moan, already incoherent from the warmth that began to spread from him from the heat that entered him from outside.

“Or, perhaps, I’m a more pleasurable partner than the King of Nightmares?” he chuckled lowly, pushing the finger in a little more, wriggling it slightly to prepare Jack, earning him more keens from the sprite beneath him. The man’s breaths grew shorter, and his strokes on his sex a little rougher at the sight of the undone spirit, and he leant forward to kiss Jack.

Jack’s eyes widened—the kiss was unexpected—and he moaned loudly into Nicholas’s mouth when he felt the man sheathe his finger fully inside him, having taken advantage of his surprise.

“Oh, _Nicholas_!” he managed to gasp when the man pulled away, and he grinned down at him, satisfied with the reaction he got, feeling Jack clench around his finger as he stopped stroking himself—he will not allow himself to get carried away, not when this show was getting _good_.

“This will just get even better, beautiful.” He said, generously coating his other fingers with a bit more oil, before gently coaxing the second finger into Jack, earning him moans from Jack as the winter sprite shuddered in pleasure as renewed warmth filled his body.

“Oh, yes, yes,” he babbled as he felt Nicholas’s fingers scissor inside him, before experimentally thrusting, gently starting to fuck him. “Yes, _more_ ,” he begged, and Nicholas chuckled.

“I thought this was _my_ reward,” he said, thrusting his fingers a little more, and hooking them—

“ _Oh_!” Jack almost screamed, his vision sparking as Nicholas’s fingers brushed his prostrate, and the human grinned down at him.

“You seem to be enjoying this more than I am,” he continued, coaxing a third finger into Jack, earning him more moans as he prepared him, fucking him with three fingers, jabbing every once in a while at Jack’s prostrate until he was a needy mess, moaning and gasping at every little movement of Nicholas’s fingers in him. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, of course.” He grinned, before leaning up to kiss Jack again. The spirit threw his arms around the back of the man’s neck and pulled him in, deepening their kiss as tongues rubbed against each other again.

Chuckling into the kiss, Nicholas gently pulled back. “I’m coming in.” he gently whispered to Jack, pulling his fingers out of the sprite, and all Jack could do was nod as the feeling of being empty jarred him into what little sense of coherence he still had left.

Gritting his teeth, Nicholas pressed his oil-wet length to Jack’s entrance, and much to his surprise, Jack canted his hips forward towards his cock, rubbing it against his pink entrance, moaning.

“Oh, please, just… Please,” Jack begged, tugging at Nicholas’s neck. “Nicholas,” he breathed. “Kiss, kiss me.”

“In a minute,” the man replied, taking a deep breath before sheathing himself surprisingly easily into Jack, earning him a low moan from the winter spirit beneath him.

Nicholas moaned, lowering his head to rest in the crook of Jack’s neck. The sprite was gripping him like a vice, still so tight and virginal despite having a spouse. The cold Nicholas was expecting wasn’t there—instead it was warm, almost _hot_ , and he found himself growing impossibly harder in lust. Beneath him, Jack writhed, his hips bucking slightly in pleasure as his legs wrapped around Nicholas, pulling him even closer to sheath him in even more, moaning wantonly as his cock, pink and copiously leaking, bounced between them as he moved.

“Nicholas, Nicholas,” Jack was begging, repeatedly like a mantra, and the man was quick to comply. He leaned down and kissed Jack passionately, all force and red-hot passion, as he waited for Jack to adjust to his length inside him. “Oh, please, move, I beg you,” Jack pleaded into their kisses, moans turning more needy as he weakly thrust against Nicholas’s stiff member inside him. “ _Nicholas_ ,”

It was his name, moaned so sweetly that pushed the man to begin to move, sweetly and slowly, sensually, as he pulled away to pour attention all over Jack’s body, his hands roaming all over Jack’s body lovingly, his mouth showering kisses all over Jack’s lips, neck and shoulders, worshipping the beauty unravelling beneath him.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Jack moaned, as their sensual lovemaking grew heated, Nicholas’s thrusts steadily growing more forceful, and suddenly—he hit the sprite’s sweet spot, sending stars bursting all across Jack’s vision. “Do it again,” he breathed, and the human above him complied, slow, sweet thrusts aimed right at Jack’s prostrate, and the sprite let out unabashed moans so sweet and honeyed, dripping with lust and passion, it drove Nicholas closer and closer to his climax.

“Jack,” he growled into Jack’s ear, his voice raspy, and Jack shivered in delight at the timbre of his voice. “I love you,”

Jack’s eyes widened and he was pushed over the edge, climaxing still untouched, his inner walls clamping down on Nicholas’s cock sheathed inside him. The man groaned and followed suit, spilling hot, hot seed into the winter spirit, before he gently pulled out, lying down next to Jack, pulling him close to himself and touching their foreheads together, warmth flooding Jack’s senses and leaving him pleasantly light-headed.

They lay together for a while, panting, their breaths mingling into vapour between them.

“That was… amazing,” Jack said after a while, and Nicholas grinned at him, clearly proud of himself.

“I doubt you and your husband ever did something like that,” he boasted, and Jack nodded, smiling sadly.

“I was raped on my wedding night.” He stated simply, and Nicholas’s eyes widened, the young man sitting up and pulling Jack up with him, gripping his shoulders in alarm.

“You, you were…” he tried to come up with something to say, but Jack shook his head, gently holding one of Nicholas’s hands on his shoulders and pulling it down to rest it in his hands. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Jack assured Nicholas, “It wasn’t your fault. The other times I laid with him, he… cheated. He fed me his lust—made my body react, comply to his needs, but I… I never wanted it.”

“He gave you an aphrodisiac?” Nicholas asked, and Jack laughed, worryingly hollow and all Nicholas wanted to do was to pull him into a warm embrace.

“Not even close.” He replied, “He gave me the very essence of his lust for me. He made my body lust for his, ready to be fucked at his every beck and call.”

“He is a horrible man.” Nicholas hissed, cupping his hands over Jack’s cheeks and lifting the spirit’s head to look at him. “He is not fit to be your husband—why did you ever marry him?”

“I was created for him,” Jack replied sadly, and Nicholas’s hands lowered from his face in shock, the very emotion clear on the human’s face. “Created from the soul of a poor boy that drowned in a frozen lake, the Man in the Moon made me as a bargaining chip to call a truce with the King of Nightmares.” Tears were shining in Jack’s eyes and Nicholas could not stand seeing such a beautiful creature in such turmoil. Frowning, he pulled Jack close to himself into a warm embrace. “I was to marry him and, and,” he began to hiccup, and Nicholas soothingly rubbed his back, feeling cold, cold tears freeze on his skin, steadily melting as the heat radiating from Nicholas’s body heated it up. “And the Moon and his Guardians would live in harmony with the Nightmare King.”

“They are all heartless fools.” Nicholas declared, and Jack pulled away from the man, eyes wide and cheeks shining with frosted-over tear tracks.

“No, Nicholas, you don’t understand—I married Pitch to keep the world safe—”

“And sacrifice yourself along the way? Give up what happiness you could attain away from him?” Nicholas cut him off, chipping away frost from Jack’s cheeks. Lovingly, he kissed Jack’s cheeks, as if to kiss the tears away. “Jack, that is not the life you deserve to live.”

“I…” the winter spirit blinked at Nicholas, shocked, but then his shock melted into warm yet sad fondness, and he rested his head against the man’s chest. “… I know, but what else can I do? I am bound to him forever.”

“Run away with me,” Nicholas whispered, and Jack’s eyes widened. Quickly he pulled away from the human, and the hurt in Nicholas’s eyes sent a knife stabbing through Jack’s heart. “You do not want to,” he sadly stated, and Jack wildly shook his head.

“No! How I wish I could, Nicholas! I wish I _could_ run away with you—but where do we run? The Nightmare King is where darkness is, the Moon in the sky every night, seeing all of what is on earth. We have nowhere to hide… my love.”

Nicholas looked at Jack, who looked up at him with a small blush on his face, and a tiny smile on his face despite what he said. Beautiful, blooming warmth spread across Nicholas’s chest and he, too, smiled, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together as his arms came up around Jack’s slim frame to embrace him.

“We are such doomed lovers, Jack Frost.” He murmured, looking into the winter spirit’s eyes, and Jack chuckled sadly.

“That we are, Nicholas St. North.” He whispered back, planting a soft, feather-light kiss on the man’s lips.

The both of them knew they had gone in too far with this dangerous gamble called love.

Neither of them cared, as smiling, Nicholas gently laid Jack down again and kissed him tenderly, hands wandering again, heat building again, love blossoming again as they began to make love again.

Outside, the moon floated on in the sky.

Beneath it, the shadows stirred.

_Three days to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST TIME WRITING SLOW, STEADY LOVING SWEET SEX. WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK? HOW WELL DID I DO THIS SHIT?
> 
> please don't kill me i usually write hard, violent rough and dirty sex don't mind me
> 
> Also, I'm sorry for mentions of rape. It came with the story, and well...
> 
> /fixes tags
> 
> also manny is an a-hole


	4. Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More lovemaking ensues.
> 
> The Guardian of Dreams is concerned.
> 
> The Flame child defends a burning passion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGUS MY BABY I CAN'T KEEP YOU OUT OF MY ROTG FICS DAMN IT
> 
> ALSO HALF-DEAD WHEN I WROTE THIS I'M GOMEN
> 
> ALL THE REGRETS, MATE.
> 
> i hope the fellatio is legit

Sex was something Nicholas had always thought was only physical, serving only to sate weeping cocks and raging drives.

How wrong he was, he thought as another night passed between him and his lovely winter lover, currently straddling his lap with a most devious smirk on his face as slim arms wrapped around the back of his neck, creamy white shoulders dotted with love bites and hickeys that Jack donned proudly like a general and his glittering medals.

Cool, snowflake-soft kisses dotted his face as Jack laved attention all over him, almost as if repaying Nicholas the gentle caresses he had spread all over the slim spirit’s lithe body, warming up fern frost coating alabaster skin and running warming freshwater down creamy white crevices. The winter spirit was uttering something as he worked, Nicholas suddenly noticed, and pulled away from Jack to look him in the eye as the spirit pouted at him.

“What are you saying?” the man asked, and Jack blinked at him, before giggling nervously, frosted cheeks tinting a lovely shade of pink, as his hand lifted up to cover his mouth daintily.

“I was saying I loved you.” Jack replied, avoiding the man’s gaze in embarrassment. “I didn’t think you’d hear it.”

“I am the king of bandits, Jack. I am an excellent fighter.” Nicholas smirked as he wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist a little tighter and pulled him closer. “I have the most acute senses. And with you, my dear Jack, there is nothing I will miss.”

Jack eyed him and smiled softly, blushing a little more, before leaning up to kiss the man chastely again. “You are too kind to me, Nicholas. You’re going to ruin me.”

“You’ve already ruined me.” Nicholas replied, “But please, my dear, let’s ruin ourselves some more.”

Jack grinned at him, back to the trickster smirk that Nicholas loved on his face as much as his shy, pretty smile, and nodded, clambering off Nicholas’s lap and kneeling down on the ground. Jack had pushed him onto a chair and ordered him to stay put as he tugged the man’s clothes off; and only now did the human realise what his winter sprite was up to.

“As you wish, my King,” Jack sweetly smiled up at him between his naked thighs, fingers lightly drumming on the skin pulled over taut, powerful muscle as his blue-pink lips brushed the tip of Nicholas’s full erection.

The human groaned at the cool and light touch, teasing and every bit erotic, and his hands balled into fists at the armrests of his chair. He looked down at Jack looking up at him past silver eyelashes, and the smirk on the spirit’s face, all seduction and temptation and completely lacking the sweet innocence it had just a few moments ago, and chuckled back, his voice throaty with want.

“Get to it, then, Jack.”

“Gladly.” The silver-haired teen purred, before poking out a pink tongue to lick at the tip of his cock. Slowly, teasingly, he swirled his tongue around the slit, never touching it directly, and just the flesh around it as above him Nicholas growled through his teeth as pleasure sparked up ice-hot in his gut. Smirking, Jack lowered his tongue and ran it down the length of the man’s length, before lapping at his balls gently, almost lovingly, as cool, clear saliva coated him like a clear film.

“ _Jack_ ,” the human groaned, his knuckles turning white at how hard he was gripping the armrests. “You-you are good at this.”

Jack simply hummed, pressing his cheek to the man’s length and looking up at him with big, falsely innocent eyes, the smirk across his lips clearly contradicting the innocent puppy-look he was giving Nicholas.

“You’re not fooling me, Jack.” The man smirked down at him, forcing one of his hands to let go of the armrest to bury his fingers in Jack’s soft hair. “Back.” He ordered, and he felt the winter sprite shiver in delight at the gravelly sound of the man’s voice.

“Yes sir,” Jack brightly replied, allowing Nicholas to gently tug at his hair and guide his head so that his lips were once again pressed against the head of the man’s cock, hard, throbbing— _alive_ —flesh pressing up against soft, cold— _dead_ —lips that were deceptively pink, as if they were trying to regain the warmth of life by just _touching_ Nicholas’s hot cock. “You’re rather big,” Jack managed to say, when suddenly his head was pushed forward. Jack almost fought back, almost resisted the push as images of shadows and yellow eyes and cruel, cruel Pitch Black forcing himself into Jack, all over him, overwhelming him, piercing darkness seeping underneath his skin flashed across his mind—but then he realised the fingers in his hair weren’t cold and sharp, digging into his scalp like a bear trap. They were warm, calloused and kind, loving and _alive_ , something neither him nor Pitch Black was and ever will be.

He was pleasuring Nicholas. Nicholas St. North, the human who took him and cared for him and loved him more dearly than he had ever been loved before. If anything, this man, this gorgeous, _wondrous_ man made Jack feel happy—overwhelmed with joy, with love. He made Jack feel wanted and loved—Nicholas made Jack feel _alive_.

He calmed down as the head pushed past his lips, and he closed his eyes, his heart so full of overwhelming _warmth_ he thought it might burst.

It had leaked out of the corner of his eyes, it seemed, when he felt Nicholas’s warm fingers touch his cheeks, wiping away unheeded tears that slipped down.

“Are you alright, Jack? We’ll stop, it’s alright.”

 _No_ , Jack wanted to say, but his mouth was occupied. Instead he lifted one of  his hands and waved it dismissively, before reaching almost blindly for Nicholas’s hand and lacing their fingers together, as his other hand came up to wrap around the man’s cock, as he took more into his mouth. What he couldn’t fit into his mouth, he made up with his hand.

“ _Jack_ ,” the man hissed, and Jack felt the hand in his hair grip it a little more tightly.

Jack began to suck and lick at the man’s cock in his mouth, earning him hisses and groans from Nicholas above him, and that spurred his actions to increase in intensity as he smirked around the cock in his mouth, before lightly brushing his teeth against the hot flesh in his mouth.

That earned him an eager buck into his mouth and his throat protested at the intrusion, but Jack pushed on and he hummed in delight when he tasted precum on his tongue. He was enjoying himself, really, when suddenly Nicholas pulled his head back, earning him a whine of protest from Jack.

“Nicholas,” the spirit moaned, moving forward in a second attempt, but the human shook his head.

“I thought you said you wanted my come inside you,” he smirked, but he was breathless. The flush on the human’s face told it all, but Jack found it endearing. He didn’t need to breathe; the little necessary things humans need to live—Nicholas made them look so special. A smile crossed Jack’s face and he nodded, getting up from where he was kneeling to clamber back on top of Nicholas’s lap.

“Then I’ll just have to pleasure you like this.” Jack sweetly smiled, now leaning down to kiss Nicholas passionately, their tongues immediately twining like as if they were made to do so. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Nicholas reach behind him for the jar of oil they had used the night before, and smiled into Nicholas’s lips, before pulling away.

“Don’t worry about that,” he gently said, touching the man’s forearm and lowering it away from the jar. Nicholas gave him a strange look, and Jack laughed sheepishly. “I… I prepared myself for the occasion.”

The human blinked at him, before grinning.

“You must _really_ love having sex with me.”

“I really love you.” Jack replied simply, smirking as he reached behind him and taking hold of the man’s cock. “And you’re going to love this.”

The human smirked at him, and he aligned the man’s member at his entrance, before sitting back, the hot appendage sliding into his cool body without a problem, slick, cold oil letting it slide in, and both spirit and human let out gasps from the temperature fluctuation—Jack, still so overwhelmed by the heat that entered him, so wide and perfect and _living_ ; and Nicholas, pleasurable sparks of the cold colliding with his heat and dissipating away in the intensity of his passion bringing him that high of pleasure he knew will only come from his lovely Jack Frost.

Jack sheathed the man fully inside him, panting and gasping as he slid it all the way in, the head firmly pressing against his prostate as he squirmed in the human’s lap.

“Oh, oh, _Nicholas_ ,” he gasped, limbs trembling in pleasure as he felt all the ice in his body melt all over again, leaving him a messy puddle of pleasure that he knew he will never get enough of.

“Jack,” the human growled, his hot, hot hands grasping at Jack’s narrow waist. “Move yourself.”

“A-ah- _ahh_ -as y-you wish,” the spirit stammered, trying to move, but his legs had turned to jelly—the heat was _delicious_ , too delicious—he couldn’t move. Weakly he grasped at the human’s shoulders and he tried pulling himself up off the cock buried inside him. Sensing the spirit’s predicament, Nicholas decided to help him out—pulling him up his cock until only the head was inside, and dropping Jack down again, earning him a gasp and a loud, wanton moan from pink, shining lips, parted in pleasure.

“Ride me.” Nicholas growled, and Jack, a new rush of energy running through him, complied, bouncing himself up and down in the man’s lap, impaling himself again and again on Nicholas’s length, hitting his prostrate every once in a while, driving him mad with lust, coercing loud gasps and moans from his throat.

“Ni-ni-Nicholas,” the spirit gasped, and the human nodded at the unspoken plea, canting up his hips upwards to meet with Jack’s bouncing, driving himself deeper and deeper inside with every thrust, bringing Jack closer and closer to his climax.

“Jack,” Nicholas gasped, leaning up to kiss Jack, and the spirit’s hands came off his shoulders and wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling the man ever closer and deepening the kiss in desperate passion—

They came together.

Panting, they parted, their eyes locking, and for a moment, that was all they did—look into each other’s equally ice-blue eyes, but then the silence was broken by the little giggle that escaped Jack’s lips.

Nicholas blinked at the spirit, but then eventually, he smiled as well, and the two of them shared a light laugh.

“What are you laughing for, dear Jack?” the young man asked after a while, picking up the spirit off his lap as his flaccid cock slid out of him with a wet sound, earning him a hiss of content pleasure from Jack. “Was there something funny that happened?”

“I,” Jack began to say, but then laughed a little more, and Nicholas shook his head fondly, before setting the spirit down on their bed of furs before looking around his tent to find any rag to clean up with. “I just… I can’t believe how smitten I am for you.”

“You’d better believe it,” the bandit laughed, picking up a cloth and walking over to Jack. “It’ll be a light in your dark life.”

“You, a beacon of light? I rather like the sound of that.” Jack smiled, and Nicholas smiled at him, giving him a light peck on his lips.

“As do I.” the human replied.

“You know, I did this with Pitch as well,” Jack spoke up, and Nicholas looked at him, no longer surprised, but an eyebrow was raised in questioning. “Riding. On his throne. It hadn’t been as enjoyable as when I was with you.”

“Comparing bed mates, now, are we?” Nicholas laughed, and Jack pouted at him. “I’m just joking,” he assured, “I’m just… I’m so happy I’m the one able to give you happiness.”

Jack smiled at him sadly, and stroked his cheek.

“I won’t forget you, you wondrous human.” He softly said, and Nicholas smiled at him, before kissing him again.

“I know.” He said simply, before getting to work on cleaning Jack up.

* * *

A man clad in gold stood in front of a boy of fire, his calm expression a direct opposite of the angry look on the spirit’s face.

“You may not interfere with the Bandit King’s happiness,” he growled, “You Guardians exist for the children; leave him out of your business.”

The golden man shook his head slowly, gently; a gentle, yet firm no, but his hands, spread and open, conveyed his message: he came as a friend, a concerned party.

The boy of fire glowered at him, and the golden man shook his head.

 _His happiness will last only two more days, Flame child_. His whispers filled the air, golden sand flying around them like liquid stone, reminding the boy of his very own magma in his veins.

“Then let him have it fully. Leave him alone.”

_But I am after the Frost child._

“He is part of the package. _Leave them be._ ”

The golden man peered at the tent sadly, and shook his head as he sensed the shadows all around him stirred and shifted.

_So shall it be, then._

The Flame child watched the Guardian of Dreams leave him alone at the outskirts of the camp, hands balled into fists.

_Two days to go._


End file.
